Assassin's Break
by femensqueterror
Summary: What if Bishop was never rescued by Duncan and became an assassin? With a tragic past and hostile upbringing this man has known nothing but hatred and anger. Death and killing. He cares for nothing and no one, until the night he captures a pretty sun elf.


This is Assassin's Break the AU story of if Bishop actually became an assassin and went among with the evil Luskan's order and crap. Even though he is working for Luskan he meets the soon to be Knight-Captain, under completely different circumstances.

This story will be a Double-shot (only chapters sorry). So please review and give me your thoughts on this new way of viewing Bishop's character. And a lot has changed, and a lot has remained the same. But I will still love him in the end! lol

Please excuse any and all spelling and grammar mistakes.

Enjoy!

* * *

Assassin's Break

For three hours he sat in the nearly brush waiting for his victim to go to sleep. He licked his lips in anticipation as the woman began to lay out her bedroll. The assassin stayed crouched camouflaged by the foliage and the darkness not moving until he heard the soft sounds of her restful breathing.

Why anyone, especially someone as important as her, would go out into the Neverwinter Woods without protection was beyond him. Was this foolish little elven woman really their target? He had observed her practicing spells by the magically induced campfire and twirling that worthless slip of metal rapier around as if she was dodging invisible enemies. The assassin had enjoyed her show quite a bit as her shoulder length hair found its way into her face and the way she took off her sweat drenched shirt revealing the leather band that hid her breasts from his eyes.

He was told to capture her and bring her back to Garius so that he could hold her captive. The assassin rolled his eyes at the order. He was a trained killer not a delivery boy. But now if this woman was the initial target he wouldn't mind flinging her ample bottom over his shoulder.

The moonlight diminished as clouds covered its source; silently the assassin stepped out of the brush and approached the sleeping sorcerer. His amber eyes flickered malevolently as he came closer to her body. Now he stood over her, his hand on the hilt of the longsword at his hip. He leaned down towards her.

"Wake up, sleeping beauty." He whispered his lips brushing her pointed ear. The sorcerer groaned and her eyes fluttered open only to reveal complete darkness before her. The assassin took her momentary grogginess as a signal to wake her up a little more. He moved on top of the elf, his knees resting on either side of her waist. He leaned his face towards her again, but this time allowed himself to nibble on the aloof elf's ear. "Wake up, girl. Don't you know that monsters come out at night?" He chuckled as he felt a small pressure against his chest.

"Who are you?" She demanded her small voice firm.

"A monster. A beast who likes pretty little girls that wander into the forest," He caught her chin in between his fingers and smirked. "Why be so alone and unprotected? You made it so easy for me." The woman below him growled and lashed out at him. The man felt a small fist collide with his cheek the force of the blow surprised him; it actually hurt. "You little bitch!"

"Get off of me!" Those were the last words of protest to fall out from her full lips. The assassin's blood boiled his eyes narrowing into hateful slits. The elf couldn't see his expression in the darkness and hardly felt his fist as it slammed into the side of her head knocking her unconscious. The man stood up and in his rage he rammed his foot into her side repeatedly until he heard a sickening crack of bone.

"How dare you hit me…Weak little wench!" The assassin spat at the ground beside her before bending down and flinging her limp form over his shoulder. Taking one look back at the bedroll and noticing the lone rapier beside it, he snatched up the rapier with his free hand leaving before the clouds uncovered the moon.

-------

"So I hear an elf is being held in one of the cells. Word says that it's that sorcerer who killed Lorne." The woman leaned against the doorframe smiling confidently. "You know anything about that, Bishop?" The assassin growled his sharp canines showing.

"You'll get out of my room if you know what's good for you." He snapped his amber eyes blazing. Bishop glared from his spot on the bed. A day ago he returned to the shabby keep, the elf over his shoulder and a red bruise on the side of his pale face, but now he just wanted to be left alone. No woman, not even his superior officer was going to arouse him now.

"Why so cold, baby?" she purred seductively as she walked towards the man that was lounging on the man. Her hips swayed shamelessly as she approached him. "Oh my, it looks like you got hit on your pretty face." She sat down beside him, her fingers inspecting the wound. Bishop turned his head to bite her hand but she pulled it away in time. "So hostile!"

The assassin found it hard to glare at the woman for a long amount of time. She was average looking (he's seen a lot better), but she had these huge gorgeous breasts that were bursting out of her black corset, his eyes always diverted down to them. The woman laughed as noticed Bishop's eyes wander downwards.

"Do you really want me to leave?" She said leaning towards him and whispering into his ear. "You sound so good on top…"

The assassin snorted turning his attention away from her large chest. "Do you say that to all the men you've slept with? I thought I made it clear to you. One time only. Never again are we ever getting that intimate." The woman poked out her bottom lip in a pout.

"But I love you, Bishop." The man snarled, pushing her off the bed her body falling to the floor.

"Get the hell out!" He roared his normally pale white face, red with anger. The woman giggled as she stood up and left the room, the door closing with a loud creak. Bishop sat on his bed, face in his hands.

How he _hated_ that word. Love was an emotion for the weak, pitiful and women. He absolutely hated it when women decided the moment after he was finished with them that they were in love with him. How the hell could they think to understand him just because he had his way with their bodies? You're so tense, you're so strong, you're stressed because of your work, you're so handsome…That's what they would whisper into his ear, when in reality if one of them had made him fall in love with them they could be spared from the inevitable onslaught that would eventually rain down upon the land. Bishop wasn't about to give any woman this luxury.

_Speaking of women…that elf is pretty interesting. Garius did say that she was slowing the revival of the King of Shadows…and he entrusted the wench to me…_

The assassin chuckled at that. What the hell was the 'great' Garius thinking? Yeah, Bishop was one of his most trusted assassins. Yeah, Bishop could effortlessly kill anyone who was targeted. But give an elven woman to him? Did he want her dead that bad? It wasn't as if he would kill her, his jealous superior would if she as so much glanced at him.

_It would be worth it to see that bitch of a woman be killed by that pretty little elf. _Bishop smirked as the images of the limp elf at his mercy appeared in his mind. The first time she regained consciousness Bishop shoved a powdered drug down her throat and gave her another blow to the head. The assassin smiled, he started liking the control he had over the elf, seeing those bruises and black eye from when he beat her, excited him. Maybe that was the reason he arrived to the keep two days later than he thought he would.

The way she panted in his ear, her soft skin pressing against his, and the scent of the sea that emanated off of her skin, it was a miracle that he returned to the Keep at all. He had seen her for a day and she was…his.

Bishop chuckled as he swung his legs over the side of his bed, and stood up grabbing his shirt from the floor.

_Maybe I'll pay her a little visit…_

------

"Oh…god…" The sorcerer moaned as the world in front of her came into focus. In front of her was a wooden door, with a singular square barred window, stone walls and floor. She was sitting upon a hard bed decorated with only a small blanket. The woman shivered feeling the cold air bite at her bare shoulders. Where was her shirt? And where was she?

Why couldn't she think straight?

The woman was still slumped against the wall as she heard the sound of a door opening and heavy footsteps; the sound of a door closing and the bright light of a torch's flame. Who was this man clothed in black from head to toe? Now he began to approach her. The sorcerer groaned the side of her face was throbbing with an excruciating pain. She whimpered as two calloused fingers pressed against left side of her face, the bruised side.

"Remember me?" A familiar gruff and manly voice said. The elf attempted to focus her emerald eyes on him but her vision became blurry, just as his face came close to hers. She nodded answering his question. "Good." The sorcerer bit her lip as his warm breath hit her face. "I'll be the only man you'll be in contact with for a long while." He jerked his head toward biting her lower lip. "You're mine to play with…" The woman felt the warmth of his body fade as he backed away from her. Her mind swirled as she tried to move towards him, there was the brief sound of a grunt as one of her hands reached out.

The sorcerer let out a pained squeal as his hard calloused hand collided with hers in a successful attempt force it away. Her eyelids continued to droop tiredly as she turned her head up to get a good look at his face. With her vision blurred all she could make out was the pale white skin of his face and neck and the pair of shining orange eyes.

"Ghost…" she muttered shying away from him. He seemed to hesitate at her words, breathing quickened to frantic panting, and those eyes burning into her soul; for a moment her heart stopped as she stared at the man before him.

_Large…foot taller…at least. Pale. Warm hands…body. Sharp teeth…black clothing. Smell of blood and burning wood._

"Ahhh!" The elf screamed as he grabbed her by her hair and threw her onto the floor. With her lack of energy and will the elf just winced and turned around her mouth wide open. He then descended upon her small body, he gathered both of her wrists in one hand and pinned them above her head. The assassin rubbed the damaged side of her face with one finger feeling the purple colored skin under his fingertips. He brought his face within an inch of hers.

"Ghost?" he chuckled rubbing his nose against her cheek. "Maybe that is why the pleasures of the flesh no longer pleasure me. Is it the reason why killing makes me feel whole, like a man? Long ago a blade cut out my heart and cast a shell into this hellish world. I love no one, not even myself. Is that why I can no longer feel pain and only wish to inflict it upon others?" His rested his head in the crook of her neck, placing one soft kiss on her brown skin. "I can't live in the sun that burns my skin nor walk amongst living people without taking a life. This _man_ you see is as alive as the living dead. I only wish for a death that can relieve me of my torment…"

The sorcerer felt the grip on her wrist loosen and fall away, the hand landing softly on her hair, fingers entwining themselves in the blonde tresses. Her eyes felt too heavy keep to open and a new pain from her ribs began to consume her as she fell into a dreamless sleep. Unbeknownst to her the assassin closed his eyes falling asleep on her small frame.

------

"Look, girl, I was told to give you a walk. And I will!" Bishop roared, pulling the barefooted sorcerer out of the castle and into the forest beyond it. The elf stumbled behind the chains on her hands and feet clanking behind her.

"Slow down please! It's the middle of the night! You're hurting me…" The assassin pulled her along for at least a mile the both of them being completely covered by the trees and foliage of the healthy forest. He let go of her arm and slowed his pace looking over his shoulder at the woman. It had been three weeks since her capture and Garius asked him to give his new 'pet' a walk; being that she was completely healed and 'broken' by him. What a fool Garius was, even a troll could tell that she was acting. At this point Bishop could careless about him and his goal. During the weeks he cared for the elf, the hatred in his heart began to burn more deeply for this cause, his associates and even himself. But he couldn't place why he could not hate her…

Was it her pretty eyes? Perfect hair? Plump lips? Her hourglass shape that made him sweat?

_No. It was more than that…_

"Bishop?" He nearly flinched as she called his name.

"What?" She diverted her eyes from him.

"Thank you for being so kind to me." What was she talking about? Bishop had not an inch of kindness in his being and what was she thanking him for? "Treating my wounds, feeding me, heh, and letting me off that drug, I owe you so much…But I have nothing to give you. Someday I hope to repay you."

"I was ordered to do those things." He leaned against a tree his arms crossed against his broad chest. "I am not kind." He added. The elf shook her head and sat on the ground beside him, her back against the tree trunk.

"No, you've spent a lot of time with me…in that cell. You never really said much…but I enjoyed your company." She giggled a bit. "Hell, I feel better around you. There is only one thing…Bishop?"

"What?" he snapped, beginning to get a headache from her confusing words.

"You never smile." The sorcerer smiled up at the man who in turned raised his eyebrow at her. How idiotic could this woman be to say things like that?

"And you never cease to annoy me. I should slit your throat right now." He grabbed the dagger at his belt and unsheathed it.

"You won't." The elf said with a smirk looking away from him. She gasped as the man stepped in front of her and crouched down to her level placing the blade of the dagger against her throat.

"I won't?" He asked a triumphant grin on his face. If this woman wasn't careful Bishop was going to slice her from ear to ear, how long had it been since he slit the throat of a man? A month? No longer than that. His wild eyes blazed fiercely as they examined her flawless neck…or more accurately a neck decorated with several circular welts. The knife dropped out of his hand as he pinned the sorcerer between his body and the tree. He wrapped her hair around his hand and pulled her head to the side exposing her marked neck. A growl left the assassin's throat.

Bishop stared at the skin, his head turning to taste it. He closed his eyes the moment he felt the soft skin against his flesh and taste her sweet sweat on his tongue. The assassin's kisses began to trail down her bare shoulder and down to her chest, his free hand tugged on the leather that hid her body from him.

"No," She panted her small hand wrapping around his wrist. "Stop…Stop it." Bishop growled and let go of her hair, slapping her across the cheek.

"I don't take orders from you." The sorcerer winced the sting of the blow still fresh on her cheek. She grabbed his hand gently rubbing it with her fingers.

"I-I know. But you do this every day, Bishop. You've left marks of your passion on my neck…" She lifted the hand to her lips. "Protected me from those hungry Luskans in the castle…" She pressed her lips to his pale and scarred hand, kissing each of his knuckles and fingertips. "I feel the same, but I'm waiting for the man who completes me. I won't give up until I find him." Her hands guided his to her chest pressing in between her breasts. She stared into the assassin's bewildered eyes. "Tell him my heart belongs to no one else and I'm patient. I'll wait," She let go of his hand and wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. "Forever."

_I don't understand…why did she say that? She would wait for the man that completes her forever…Why is she telling me this things…I don't understand. The marks of passion, I protect her? Her soft lips kissed my fingers, her arms are around me, such an intoxicating scent she has…She is the woman who talks to a ghost. She saw right through me, when I couldn't do anything but wander aimlessly._

Bishop bit his lip as he gathered the now sleeping sorcerer in arms and headed back to the keep. Once inside the keep he headed into the castle and into his room, where he placed the sorcerer on his bed and covered her with the blankets. He would sleep on the floor tonight.

He sat on the hard stone floor his body propped up against the wall next to the resting elf. Bishop removed his shirt and boots, taking one final look at her peaceful face. Then his eyes widened in surprise. Did he just feel something tug at his heart?

_Heart? What heart?_ Bishop laid his hand on his chest and his jaw dropped. A heartbeat…how long had it been since he felt his heart beating?

Years…Nearly sixteen years.

------

"Bishop…You're off your mark." The assassin left another arrow fly completely missing his target. His white fingers trembled under his black leather gloves. He hated this woman with all of his being. He picked another arrow from the quiver on his back, notching his bow, and then _she_ stepped in front of him.

"Bishop, why do you ignore me? I only care about you…" Bishop narrowed his eyes at her words and pulled the arrow back farther. "Please? I don't want to tell Garius anything he doesn't want to hear…Maybe a little lie about you slipping information to Neverwinter." He lowered his bow, putting the arrow back inside of the quiver.

"What do you want, Genn?" he growled from under the black hood over his face. The woman smirked up at him thrusting her chest forward, pressing against his black leathers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing her face close to his, lips pouting.

"Those delicious lips of yours…" Genn kissed him full on the lips her eyes closed. Bishop glared down at the woman never returning her vile kisses. If she asked for entrance into his mouth he granted it but stood there as stiff as a statue until she had her fill of him. Unfortunately, this woman was so overcome with greed and her small bit of power that she wouldn't stop until she had Bishop cornered; she wanted marriage.

Because of her manipulative ways she somehow forced the assassin into an engagement he never wanted. It was said that after this 'war' they would be husband and wife living happily ever after. Yeah right. That _woman_ just wanted a puppet to control for the rest of her life; Bishop was ready to drive a dagger threw his heart the second she forced him into a _life_ with her. As if his life wasn't miserable enough already.

"Mmm…" The woman moaned licking his velvet lips. She kissed him once more against his cheek before sauntering away like the tramp that she was.

Bishop spat on the ground bitterly trying to get her disgusting taste out of his mouth and wiped his cheek and lips with the back of his sleeve.

"Fucking tramp always ruins my day." He swore stomping away from archery fields and back towards the keep.

Why in the Nine Hells did she choose him? Knew he had a place in the lowest level of the Hells, but wasn't his life hell enough? He watched his mother be raped and killed, father slaughtered, kidnapped and robbed of anything that resembled a childhood. The Luskan soldiers drafted him into the army at age of nine; he was beat and forced to kill innocent villagers from where ever they went.

Bishop remembered his first kill, not to long after he was drafted. He was ten years old and the victim was a thirty five year old man, a captured paladin of Tyr. Bishop's capturers promised that if he slaughtered the man he could eat, at the time his young boyish body was so deprived that ribs shown threw his skin which was marked with bruises and whip marks. When he was thrown into the room equipped with nothing but a small dagger he walked towards the battered man with tears in his eyes. He was hungry, tired, and afraid to get whipped again if he defied the Luskan soldiers. His small body shivered under the extremely loose fitting tunic he wore, and then the stranger turned his head up at the frail boy.

"Those _men_ send a child to do their dirty work…How despicable." The man looked Bishop over and sighed. "They probably promised you food, right? If it gets you something to eat, then go ahead. I have no quarrels about sacrificing my life for a suffering child…But what will it do to you in the long run? Get it over with boy and save us both the wrath of the Luskans." Not long after his words the boy thrust the dagger into his chest. Bishop watched as his heartbeat slowed and eventually stopped; something of his stopped along with it.

A few minutes later the Luskans snatched his cowering form out of the room and dragged him back to his lonely cell where his meal awaited him. Bishop ate and gorged himself with food, but none of it tasted right. Everything tasted the same, bitter and sour no matter how sweet it was and as long as he had to kill to earn his meals neither food nor drink would appeal to his senses.

For four years he lived in that cell killing the unlucky people who found themselves on the wrong side of Luskans temper. Almost daily he would slaughter some unsuspecting man, woman, child… Bishop had become comfortable and creative in his killings. He developed a twisted enjoyment for pain; he relished watching someone bleed and hearing their last breaths escape from her lips. The teenager felt that inflicting the pain he felt emotionally on others would satisfy him. But satisfy what?

What did he need?

One day Bishop woke up from his frequent nightmares of his mother's death, panting. His limp hair clung to his sweat drenched face as a Luskan guard walked up cell an ugly grimace on his face.

"It's about time you quit your worthless screeching…Heh, what type of man cries for their dead mother? From what I heard she was a good lay." Then the guard walked away from the cell, leaving the boy to his depressing thoughts.

Images of every person he ever killed became his mother…No they all resembled her perfectly. He stared down at his stark white hands…he was never this pale as a child. Bishop stayed up for the rest of the night and into the morning staring at his blood stained hands. Late in the afternoon, the guards came and lead him into the slaughter room where a woman was curled up in a ball in the corner. He approached the woman the dagger in his hand.

"No!" she shouted, holding her hands out in defense. "Please I have a husband and a son! A-A young boy, I apologize for what I said I just want to see them again…" Those words struck Bishop right in his heart; a mother with a young son and husband. Bishop stepped backwards his eyes wide and filled of emotion. His mother screamed and pleaded like that, her eyes were wide and her chest heaved just like this woman's. His back met the cold surface of the stone wall as he could no longer back away any farther. Suddenly his knees buckled and he fell to the floor. Bishop sat up and stared at the weapon and his white hands that held him.

"Is that what they do now!? Send monsters like you to slaughter people who have families, friends and lives? Monster!" The woman yelled from her corner. "Don't touch me…d-don't you dare!"

Monster.

Bishop swallowed at his mind gripped around the word. The truth.

He was a monster and in this white body with these hands he ended the lives of countless people…with this weapon. Would it hurt to end his own life, to spare others from that pain?

There was only one way to find out.

------

"Wow…I get good food today?"

"Shut up and eat."

"Sorry…" The elf apologized meekly her eyes focused on the meal in front of her. Bishop eyed the sorcerer as she began to eat, her small hands grabbing the rolls before putting them in her mouth. The assassin often found himself staring at the young elven woman. Her bright eyes, gentle smile, small voice and kind manner intrigued him and her look mesmerized him. Bishop had to hold himself back many times when he wanted to touch her soft skin with his bare hands, feel his fingers run through her hair or his lips against hers.

The assassin shook his head of those thoughts. No, he was simply interested in the great 'power' that she supposedly wielded. He never sensed anything other than a weak woman from her body, not supreme arcane powers.

"Bishop?" The assassin jerked his head up from his spot on his bed.

"Yeah?" The elf walked over to him a small smile upon her lips.

"May I?" She gestured to the place next to him.

"Whatever."

"I really like you, Bishop." He narrowed his eyes at her.

"You say another word and you won't be living for much longer." She shook her head scooting her body closer so that their thighs were touching.

"You've been really nice to me…Bringing me out of that cell really makes me happy prisoner." A girlish giggled escaped from her. "That's foolish isn't it, a happy prisoner…"

"Shut up."

"But there is a point to this all. I swear." The elf looked away her hand nervously pushing some of her hair behind her ear. Bishop noticed a blush tinting her smooth brown cheeks. "Umm…C-Could you lay back on the bed?"

"No. Now get away from me, I'm not bedding you because you think I'm 'nice'." She whipped her head around to stare at him, blonde strands scattered across her astonished face.

"You miss understood. I don't want to do that with you! I-I just need to talk to you about something that is going to effect us both tomorrow night!" She bit her lip and looked into his cold amber eyes. "Please…I really need to tell you…"

The assassin gazed into her emerald depths for a moment contemplating her words.

_She just wants to talk…I guess it's alright then._

He slowly tilted his body backwards his eyes locked on the sorcerer, looking for any suspicious movements. Bishop growled as the woman got up from her seat and crawled on top of him.

"I thought I made it clear that I'm not bedding you." He hissed as the sorcerer's beautiful face floated above his own.

"I know. I know. But I want to know how it felt to be so close to you…Because this could be the last night I spend with you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Tomorrow this keep will be captured by Neverwinter and we are ordered to kill everyone who looks and acts like a hostile target." Bishop frowned, his eyes burning into hers.

"You manipulative wench. So now you are going to kill me? My pay for nursing you back to health?" The woman bit her lip and looked away from his intense stare.

"No…Bishop. I could never kill you, that's why I'm telling you this." She lowered her lips to his ear. "I don't want to leave you to die. You already hold a place in my heart."

"I'm not going to fall prey to one of your little games. What spare my life and I'll be your slave in return? Screw you."

"No, please listen to me!" Her small hands grabbed his cheeks caressing the small hairs that were slowly growing into a beard, her voice urgent and her words frantic. "Sometimes your eyes are so sad that I want to cry for you. For some reason I've become…" The sorcerer looked into his fiery amber eyes, "attracted to you, grown feelings for you. I can tell that you hate it here. The people, Garius, your position but…my feelings aren't right. You're in a relationship with another woman…Maybe I'm being selfish but I want you by my side like you have been."

Bishop's eyes scanned her face looking for any sign of deception, trickery or malevolence; he could find none. Her breath was warm against his cheek and those full hers of hers were close enough for him to accidentally brush his lips against them. "Don't mention her. I'd rather marry an orc than that used up harpy." He said his cold and arrogant tone sounding more kind and sincere. For some reason Bishop wanted to deny the fact that he was more than interested in her power and that he might be interested in the actual woman on top of him. "Why should I trust you?"

The sorcerer inhaled deeply her eyes closing. "Because I want to see you smile. Laugh. Be a normal person and not a killing machine. And," she paused for a moment, "I want…I-I want…"

Bishop noticed the tears swelling up in her emerald eyes. She couldn't possibly…

_She couldn't be crying for me. This girl just wants me like every other woman in this god forsaken place._

That's when he felt it; the moisture dropping down on his face like tears from the heavens.

Bishop wrapped his arms around the sorcerer, pressing her body into his and his lips capturing hers in a pained kiss. She tasted better than any woman he had bedded and her lips were softer than feather pillows. As Bishop's hands began to travel her body, he found himself enjoying the delicate curves of her womanly frame. Before he just hungrily grabbed and pressed his fingers into the women in his bed, never enjoying it for it was only to fill a gap in his soul so wide that he, himself, was falling further and further down.

Her tears seized the moment their lips parted, only to clasp onto one another once again missing the feel of the other. The sorcerer moaned as she felt the calloused hands of the assassin slowly caress the skin of her back, her body burning with each touch. His hands wandered down to the pair of torn red pants that hung loosely at her hips. Bishop pulled back his breathing husky and eyes glazed over with emotion.

"Why?" Shot out of his mouth in between his heavy panting. "Why?" he asked again waiting for the elf's answer. She smiled down at him warmly.

"Well…I guess we were fated to meet each other."

-------

The man gripped the dagger hesitantly before running the tip against his forearm creating a horizontal cut from which blood poured out freely. The dagger hit the wooden floor with a loud clank as the assassin-in-training rubbed his wrists; both of his scarred wrists. A few years back he tried to run from his wretched life of servitude, but the Luskans found him, healed him, then beat him unconscious when he awoke from his injures.

"_If you are that weak, then just slice your arm a couple of times. It'll bring you back to reality."_

"Why am I here?" He watched as the blood trailed down his arm and dripped off of his fingers hitting the floor. His skin was as white as a ghost, his eyes fiery and his soul destroyed. He had lived nineteen years and felt like even less of a person than he was before. Now he just floated through life, following the orders he hated, bedding loose women, and executing all of the prisoners that they brought to him. Bishop lived as a shell of the once happy farm boy with two loving parents. It is hard for him to remember what happiness is and how it felt to be happy since it was over ten years since he felt it.

Now they trained him to be an assassin for the Host Tower. As usual he went along with the harsh training, beatings, and degrading orders of sense less slaughter. Soon the man stopped caring about life altogether just sending small reminders with a dagger that he was alive.

Countless scars marred the white skin of his arms and chest from years of abuse. All Bishop wanted was to fade away on that floor five years ago and he wasn't even granted that. Why was he living? For the sick, twisted enjoyment of others?

Five more years pasted and he was just as empty as before or even more so. His cold, brutish manner and arrogant, lewd speech were all apart of his character now. He needed no one and no one truly wanted him without something in return; the Luskans wanted their dirty work done for them and women wanted his body. Bishop didn't care that he was one of the best assassins in Luskan and possibly the Sword Coast; he wanted no part in the marriage between himself and his Luskan superior, the man wanted to runaway from it all. Bishop hissed as his picked up the dagger and sliced his arm again. At the moment cheap women, ale, training, pain and his missions were the only things keeping him from going insane. He hated his superior.

_Superior…That spoiled whore was only made my 'babysitter' to make sure I don't__make another attempt on my wretched life. I could careless…maybe that sorcerer would do me a favor and put me out of my misery. It shouldn't be to hard…_

The assassin pulled down the sleeve of his linen shirt not worrying about the blood that was seeping through the material. Although Garius irritated him to no end Bishop followed his orders as a good dog should, never steering away from the target arriving back at the keep in a timely fashion. Along the way Bishop had developed a twisted obsession with beating his targets into submission before he impaled them amongst the cold steel of his longsword. He needed to feel the pain of another person and let them know that they were never to be healed; they were to die broken like he would.

If Bishop ever refused a job or injured any of his fellow assassins, the Luskans promised to throw him back into that small prison where they would send him head first into his old profession. The assassin never wanted to go back there again.

Bishop stood up from his seat on the bed and picked up his black leathers from the armor rack across the room. After a few moments of buckling and adjustments, the assassin was out the door and the keep, heading straight for the Neverwinter Wood, where she was to be training for a week. He would snatch the girl while she was sleeping and bring her back to the castle. It was simple. It was easy.

Gods was he wrong.


End file.
